


The Archer

by JustLikeInMyDream



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, F/M, Now complete, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-01-16 19:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21276572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLikeInMyDream/pseuds/JustLikeInMyDream
Summary: 'For years, she wrote off the intensity of their bond, saying to their friends that he was "just a friend" and that was all. However, as her recent revelations imply, she is beginning to consider him to be so much more. It comes naturally, and once it is arrived and accepted, she cannot stop it from taking over her daily thoughts and actions.'(HarryxHermione, during Deathly Hallows)Inspired by Taylor Swift's song "The Archer"





	1. one

_combat_  
_I’m ready for combat_  
_they say I don’t want that  
_ _but what if I do_

“You all right, Hermione?”

The current revelation dancing on the tip of Hermione’s tongue is both surprising and not surprising. However, nothing _should_ surprise her anymore. The only problem is that she _somehow_ still is shocked every. single. time.

Because, in all sincerity, the Wizarding World is seriously, completely, and utterly … _bizarre_.

The troll is one thing — it was the first inconceivable thing she witnessed since she was alerted to her witch status. That was pretty shocking, but so was the fact that Ronald Weasley, a walking insult generator at age 11, had come to her rescue with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Being petrified by a big basilisk is a whole other conundrum.

Okay, but, time travel. Portkeys to travel from one place to another. The Department of Mysteries, a true puzzle. And rooms materializing as if from nowhere, containing items with their own secrets. So yeah, she’s lived through some stuff.

But perhaps there is nothing stranger than the notion of soul-splitting.

_‘cause cruelty  
_ _wins in the movies_

Harry declares he’s not going back to Hogwarts — he wants to find these objects of Voldemort’s soul and _destroy_, _destroy_, _destroy_ — so Hermione goes with him. Ron comes too. They are not prepared for the insanity that comes from the three of them being together.

So, while the concept of residing in the forest in a tent with two hormonal teenage boys and eating what she can find that isn’t poisonous is certainly not ideal, at least she is alive and the boys are alive, and they have two Horcruxes destroyed and one Horcrux in their possession. Does she think Harry should have a little bit more of a plan? Yes, of course, but like, how in the world is one supposed to _find_ a Horcrux when they know next to nothing?

How could someone be so … how could someone do this to themselves? Willingly fracture their soul into pieces? _Six_ pieces? Willingly commit _six_ murders? Murder, the truest act of evil, mutilates a witch or wizard’s soul, and then one can cast a spell to rip away the damaged piece and encase it in an object. The fragment of soul in the object will take the appearance and perform the mannerisms of the person when they committed the murder.

Therefore, when Tom Riddle murdered Myrtle, his vandalized soul was placed in the diary, keeping his 16-year-old self preserved forever.

So, yeah, all right, that’s pretty crazy. Hermione has thought about the math of the whole process prior to being stuck in a forest, but now she has so much time to herself that it becomes clearer with each moment. Tom Riddle has 100 percent of his soul, and then he creates a Horcrux out of his diary. Half of his soul is in the diary while the other half stays in him. The fifty percent makes the diary so powerful, it has the ability to influence a human being, direct a colossal serpent, and wreck havoc on a school full of children.

But then he makes his father’s ring a Horcrux. Now he only has twenty-five percent of his soul, while the ring has the other twenty-five percent. The ring that causes Dumbledore’s cursed right hand and shortened life.

And then there’s the locket that belonged to Salazar Slytherin, which has twelve-and-a-half percent of his soul, so he has twelve-and-a-half percent of his soul in him. The locket that causes the wearer to have a foul mood and see the worst in everything and everyone.

There’s two more and then Nagini, and as Voldemort creates them, his body contains less and less of his soul. If Hermione is right, and she thinks she is, Voldemort has less than two percent of his soul in his own body. No wonder his soul shattered so easily when he tried to kill Harry in 1981.

However, he did kill James and Lily before attempting to kill Harry. Did a piece of his soul latch on to Harry’s soul? Well, most likely, how else can the mental connection between Harry and Voldemort be explained? How else can Harry fluently speak Parseltongue with having no prior knowledge or education? How else can all the similarities between the two wizards be explained?

_“Neither can live while the other survives …”_

Harry and Voldemort cannot live without the other. So … both have to die.

The realization hits her like a train and she feels like she can’t breathe, like she can’t move. In order for the most evil wizard in the Wizarding World to die, her best friend, her confidant, her first love … has to die too.

That’s why Dumbledore protected Harry all these years. That’s why Dumbledore wanted Harry to find the artifacts with fragments of Voldemort’s soul and destroy them. If all of them are slaughtered, Voldemort becomes mortal. Once Voldemort is mortal … he can die.

Harry looks at her expectantly, and she remembers he asked her a question a moment ago. She forces a smile, and Harry can probably tell it isn’t genuine, but she’ll just chalk it up to being ready for this nightmare to end. “Yeah … I’m fine.”

_I’ve got a   
_ _hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you_

He grabs her hand and pulls her to her feet. She is now aware of the radio playing music gently and he wraps an arm around her, holds her hand in his, and sways them slowly. She smiles again, but it still doesn’t reach her eyes. She lays her head against his shoulder and lets him move her to the soft beat of the music.

She feels conflicted in her emotions. She wants to break down and cry, but she also wants to feel nothing. It’s too much, everything hurts. Everything bad that happens to Harry happens to her through association, and damn if it doesn’t hurt so much more than it should. But why? Is the ache from Ron leaving them interweaving through the other agony she feels?

She will not tell him about her revelation, no, not now, because it will kill him. He will feel betrayed by Dumbledore and he can’t feel that way if they want to make it through the winter and find the rest of the Horcruxes. He will not make it, she will not make it.

(And in case anyone is wondering, she feels incredibly betrayed too. Harry was essentially raised to be killed. How is that justified? How could Dumbledore, a man they all revered, do this to them? She feels rage towards the dead wizard, and she suddenly wonders if he ever intended on telling Harry, or if dying was his way out of the situation.)

_easy they come_  
_easy they go_  
_I jumped from the train_  
_I’d ride off alone_  
_I never grew up_  
_it’s getting so old  
_ _help me hold on to you_

Harry twirls her to the music, and she is brought out of her thoughts once more. He’s smiling, trying so hard to bring her back to him. She admires his attempt, and she tries, she really does, but it proves to be more difficult than either of them hoped. But his smile is contagious, and she finds herself smiling back at him.

The song continues, and he’s still swaying and twirling her, and somehow they’re laughing. Their situation is shit, but they’re laughing, and Hermione can’t help but think that she could never have a moment like this with Ron.


	2. two

_I’ve been the archer  
_ _I’ve been the prey_

“But … leave the Mudblood.”

Hermione swallows, more nervous for the next moments than for anything in her lifetime. She vaguely hears Ron screaming, telling Bellatrix to take him — _torture him _— instead of her, but all she really notices is the deafening silence from Harry. He isn’t shouting or struggling against the Snatchers dragging them into the dungeon — he’s just looking back at Hermione like a piece of his own soul is about to be ripped from him.

A sudden force pushes Hermione onto her knees and then Bellatrix is practically nose to nose with her when she starts grilling her for information. She didn’t hold back on the use of the Cruciatus Curse.

“Have you been to Gringotts?”

“No.”

“Liar. How else could you have that sword?”

“I’m not lying!” Hermione cries, tears dripping down her face.

Bellatrix lets out a scream of anguish and frustration and _Crucio_s her again.

“You’re going to lose,” Hermione chokes out suddenly, her Gryffindor braveness appearing, smearing the blood from the cut on her cheek across her face. “Harry will win, because love _always_ wins.”

“You don’t think we love and honor the Dark Lord?” Bellatrix fumes. “How dare you doubt my love for the Dark Lord!” She uses more C_rucio _on Hermione for her suggestion.

“It’s … it’s different,” Hermione struggles to speak thanks to the pain coursing through her entire body. “It’s — it’s stronger love!” She shouts as another wave of stinging agony washes through her body.

A sly smile, more terrifying than any other facial expression she has adorned, creeps across Bellatrix’s face. “Ah … I see now,” she circles Hermione and speaks like she’s interacting with a baby, “you … are in love … with the Boy Who Lived.”

Hermione looks anywhere but at the older and scarier witch. She even makes eye contact with Draco, who seems to be paler than normal, for a brief moment. His expression doesn’t give anything away, but she knows he wonders how in the world they managed to get caught by Snatchers. “No,” she tries to say it aloud but it only comes out as a whisper as though her body cannot betray her heart.

“Ah — another lie.” Bellatrix pushes Hermione onto her back and she lets out a yelp as her head collides with the hard ground. Bellatrix towers over her, “You’re in love with the Boy —”

“No!” Hermione gasps and Bellatrix is laughing, gleeful to have found Hermione Granger’s _one_ weakness.

In between fits of giggles, Bellatrix turns to her sister and points at Hermione as she says, “Look Cissy, isn’t this just a precious thing? The Mudblood loves the Half-Breed …”

“Bella —“

“Of course she would pick the unworthy … filthy … pathetic wizard who dares defy the Dark Lord.”

Hermione coughs from the ground and shakes her head. She can almost reach a wand, whether it’s hers or not doesn’t matter, but Bellatrix stops her in a fury. Her arm is held down and Bellatrix draws her small knife with a devilish grin on her lips.

“No, no!” Hermione screams as the knife digs into the skin of her forearm.

She couldn’t tell what Bellatrix carves into her skin, but she knows it hurts. It isn’t an electrifying pain like the Cruciatus Curse, but it is still overwhelming. She can’t help but scream and cry. Bellatrix does not let up as the knife is pressed farther into her arm and this is when Hermione begins to feel someone in her mind, probing, trying to find information.

She couldn’t let that happen, no no no, none of them can know what they’re trying to do, so she follows her first instinct — flood her mind with other thoughts and images.

And she immediately thinks of Harry. It’s like Bellatrix is right, she does have feelings for him.

It’s not “like” she’s right — she _is_ right. Hermione does have feelings for him. If the last few months have taught her anything, it’s that she does love him, more than she could possibly imagine. She would do anything for him and she would follow him to the end of the world, as if that isn’t already obvious. But her feelings run deeper than a brother-sister bond — more than a best friend bond — stronger than what she feels for Ron …

She has been trying to deny it, deny it, deny it, because she can’t feel this way, simply cannot, because Ginny loves him and Ron loves her, and now it’s so complicated.

She subconsciously is shaking her head as this happens, still screaming, and hoping that every time the knife is withdrawn from her skin, it’s the last time it will defile her. Finally, Bellatrix removes herself from Hermione’s shaking form to question Griphook the goblin, and she just lays on the floor of the Malfoy Manor, crying silently as her blood drips from the word carved in her forearm: _mudblood._

She doesn’t comprehend how they escape the Malfoy Manor, but she is beyond grateful. She’s barely awake when she realizes Harry is holding a lifeless Dobby, begging for help to save his life, but there’s nothing she can do except watch helplessly as Dobby draws his last breath. The sorrow in Harry’s eyes is one of the last things she sees before succumbing to the pain and exhaustion.

_who could ever leave me darlin_


	3. three

_but who could stay_

She sleeps, but she’s not sure how long she does. Her arm throbs in pain occasionally, but someone keeps putting a pain relieving potion down her throat, following a sleeping draught potion. So she sleeps, with no nightmares, for the first time in months.

When she finally regains consciousness, she realizes she’s not alone. But it isn’t Ron or Fleur or Luna or Dean who’s by her side.

It’s Harry.

He’s holding her hand with his head laying on the bed next to her. His face ashen, his hair disheveled. His glasses lay next to him, and his eyes are closed, but she can guarantee he’s not asleep.

She squeezes his hand slowly and his eyes fly open, connecting with hers. He struggles to get his glasses on with just one hand — he doesn’t let go of her’s. Her vision becomes blurry from the unshed tears brought upon by a wave of intense emotion, but she sees him frantically try to scoot closer in the chair, before giving up and hugging her to him tightly. She doesn’t want him to let go.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into her hair. “I didn’t think … I didn’t think when I said —”

“Oh, Harry, it’s okay,” she tries to console him through her tears with her face in his neck. “We’re alive … that’s what matters.” She bites her lip when she says ‘alive’ because just then she remembers Dobby isn’t and boy, that’s a kick in the teeth.

He doesn’t bring up Dobby — all he does is gently hold her forearm and inspect the bandage for any leaking blood. “Are you in any pain?” She shakes her head slowly, knowing if she says yes, he’ll continue to fuss. He sighs, some of the tension in his shoulders leaving, before continuing, “Good, Fleur’s been giving you potions to help with the pain and getting some sleep. There’s not much she can do about … about the …” He can’t say the words and just rests his forehead against the side of her head.

She understands and tries to comfort him. “It’s okay —”

“It’s not okay!” He explodes into an upright position, and she flinches at the statement. “It’s not okay what she did to you! It will never be okay! She _labeled_ you!”

“We all have scars,” she murmurs, reaching for his forehead with her bad arm. A thrum of pain shoots from shoulder down to fingertip. “We all have been through hell, and that’s how it is.”

He’s breathing heavily, but his anger dissipates as he allows her fingers to trace his scar. “You weren’t supposed to have scars.” She smiles sadly at his sentiment. “You … you …” He can’t speak as tears now fill his eyes.

“I know, I know,” she nods, and he crawls into bed with her and holds her, just like in the forest, just like they had for years when one of them had a nightmare or simply needed someone there.

(After Harry almost killed Draco in the boys lavatory and after Harry threw his Potions book in the Room of Requirement, she found him hiding in the Owlery. He didn’t look at her — he didn’t even acknowledge that she was there. She just wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his back. Her presence was comforting, and when they returned to the tower long after everyone went to bed, they slept in his bed.

_dark side  
_ _I searched for your dark side  
_ _what if I’m already right, right, right here_

When Hermione was petrified, Harry would visit her all the time, even though she had no idea at the time. He would read to her from _Hogwarts, A History_ and tell her about the things going on at Hogwarts. She only knows this now because Dean and Seamus told her two years ago during the Dumbledore’s Army Christmas Party.)

When Harry holds her, she feels better, safer, calmer. They draw upon each other’s energy. She’s always there to believe in him and he’s always there to pull her out of herself. When he doesn’t feel like he can continue, she’s the one encouraging him. When she doesn’t feel good about herself, he’s the one cheering her up.

For years, she wrote off the intensity of their bond, saying to their friends that he was _just a friend_ and that was that. However, as her recent revelations imply, she considers him to be much more. It’s a thought that should surprise her, but it comes naturally, and once it arrives and is accepted, she cannot stop it from taking over her daily thoughts and actions.

While recovering (and actually getting to experience a warm shower again), Hermione spends a lot of her time by Harry’s side. It may not be noticeable to anyone other than herself, because they already spend so much of their time together, but now it’s a deliberate choice. She feels safer with him, and while getting quality girl time with Luna (and Fleur too, I suppose) is nice, it’s not the same. They bury Dobby together, without magic, and they help Fleur cook food for them, without magic.

When Ron returned, he was no longer jealous of their closeness, although he definitely has a real reason to be. Hermione knows she has a decision to make, but they’re coming down the homestretch now and the war is going to culminate into one battle — a battle in which … Harry has to die.

Hermione doesn’t like the plan of getting into Gringotts, as Bill warned her and Harry that goblins are mischievous creatures who don’t always follow a given plan, but she knows it’s a necessity. Bellatrix was pretty freaked when she saw the sword with them and continually asked if they had taken anything else. Harry believes this meant there is a Horcrux hiding in Bellatrix’s vault, and as much as Hermione hates his plans, she has to admit he was right.

_and I cut off   
_ _my nose just to spite my face_  
_and I hate my reflection  
_ _for years and years_


	4. four

_awake in the night  
_ _I pace like a ghost_

“You knew.”

His tone is not accusatory, not even a bit. His voice is calm, but sadness seeps into his words, and she thinks he probably wants to know why she didn’t tell him.

She’s sobbing before she even reaches him, begging him to let her go with him, because she can’t bear life without him — she can’t, she can’t, she just can’t. Her arms wrap around him, and he’s holding onto her for dear life, he’s holding her like he’s trying to shield her from the pain of this mess. And for once, she doesn’t feel better or calmer — she just feels inexplicable sadness. She knows he has to go, but if they can die together, it’s okay.

“I’ll go with you,” she chokes out through her tears. “I’ll go with you, please, Harry, please.” She would go with him to the end of the world if she could.

“I have to do this alone,” he mumbles into her shoulder.

It feels eerily familiar, and Hermione is brought back to first year when she _told_ _him_ to go on without her. She was so confident of her actions back then, she had all the faith in the world in her choices, and god, she was only eleven years old. Now, while she has faith in Harry, and she knows he’s doing the commendable thing, she can’t bring herself to let him go.

“I don’t know how to live without you,” she lifts her head off his shoulder and says this so softly, he only knows she spoke because her lips moved. It’s only part of a much bigger confession, but she couldn’t keep it all in anymore. He was about to face Voldemort and accept his fate — death — and she can’t stop the admission from tumbling out. “I could never live without you.”

She’s holding her breath, momentarily forgetting about Ron, and she realizes his face is getting closer to her face, and then his lips ghost over hers. It’s so subtle that Hermione doesn’t even think it happens, especially because there is no reaction from Ron (guess he didn’t see it), but the tingle left behind after he steps away is enough to confirm it.

“Don’t forget, you have to kill the snake. It’ll be the only one left.”

She stands off to the side in a trance as he and Ron do a brotherly hug goodbye. She sees Harry whisper something to Ron before they part, but she figures it’s something personal between the two of them and decides not to ask about it. They both have tears in their eyes as they watch him walk away.

_the room is on fire  
_ _invisible smoke_


	5. five

_and all of my heroes  
_ _die all alone  
_ _help me hold on to you_

_“Harry Potter is dead!”_

Hermione hears Voldemort’s voice ring out throughout the castle. She’s standing with the Weasleys, mourning with them as one of their own lay amongst the dead. She feels her heart stop for the briefest of moments before it restarts and she and Ron and Ginny and Neville and Luna and others race towards the courtyard to see for themselves that their friend, their hero, was truly … dead.

_I’ve been the archer  
_ _I’ve been the prey  
_ _screamin who could ever leave me darlin  
_ _but who could stay_

McGonagall is somehow the first into the courtyard and her scream of anguish is one of the worst noises Hermione ever hears. Others reach the steps and shouts and yells and cries can be heard … Ginny’s screaming and crying, completely beside herself, and Arthur is holding her back, keeping her from running to his body. Ron is shell-shocked, his eyes red and puffy from losing his brother and now his best friend. Neville and Luna are holding each other. Everyone is crying and Voldemort is gloating but Hermione …

_‘cause they see right through me  
_ _they see right through me  
_ _they see right through  
_ _can you see right through me_

Hermione can’t seem to hear or do anything. She’s frozen in place, mouth gaping, breath coming in gasps. The sight of Harry’s lifeless body in Hagrid’s arms causes her mouth to run dry and her eyes to well with tears. She almost falls to her knees, but she feels someone grasp her arms, preventing her from collapsing to the ground. Bellatrix notices this and laughs.

“Aww, does the poor Mudblood feel like her life is over now that her love is _dead_?”

_they see right through me  
_ _they see right through me_

Bellatrix’s words fall on deaf ears as Hermione can’t really comprehend them. Both Ron and Ginny look over at her, unsure how to take the question, because they don’t know what Hermione knows.

They don’t know that _she_ _does_ _love_ _him_.

_I see right through me  
_ _I see right through me_

She knew, while she was being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange in the Malfoy Manor’s sitting room, that someone was probing her mind. Try as she might, she didn’t have the energy to fight them off, so she couldn’t stop them from flipping through her memories of Harry (and of Ron too, I guess). So she flooded her mind of memories of him — err … them — so they couldn’t find the Horcrux knowledge.

Guess it was Bellatrix herself who was using Occlumency.

_all the king’s horses  
_ _all the king’s men_  
_couldn’t put me  
_ _together again_

“Well don’t worry, you’ll, too, be dead soon.” Bellatrix speaks with such hatred that Neville moves to stand in front of her, still grasping her arm.

“Like hell!” He snarls, and Hermione has never seen him this angry before. “You’ve killed Harry and many others tonight, but that’s over now!”

Bellatrix laughs, as do many of the other Death Eaters. “Oi, Longbottom, bit of advice? We already killed one martyr, we won’t hesitate to kill another.” The Death Eaters rejoice and then Voldemort silences them with a wave of his hand.

“Let’s hear what Neville has to say, Bella. I’m intrigued.”

It is clear that Neville is taken aback by Voldemort’s statement. Luna comes up behind him and Hermione to take over holding her up. Luna’s shushing her and it’s only then Hermione realizes that the person who’s crying is so loud is her own. Luna wipes the tears off both their faces and nods encouragingly at Neville.

“Aren’t you a pureblood?” The Dark Lord asks tentatively.

“So what if I am?” Neville practically spits his response.

“I say this because you will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your blood.”

“I’ll join you when hell freezes over,” Neville shouts, “Long live Dumbledore’s Army!”

“We may have lost Harry … Fred, Remus and Tonks, and, and so many more, but they did not die in vain! The died while fighting for freedom. They will live on in our hearts and we will keep fighting. We will never. Stop. Fighting.” Neville shouts defiantly, elicitinga response from those around him.

Voldemort just grimaces at the cheers he hears from the “good people” across from him. “Oh well, very well, have it your way then.” He draws his wand, but not before Neville draws the Gryffindor Sword out of the Sorting Hat. Voldemort does not falter, but he does laugh and the rest of the Death Eaters join him. “You think that sword will save you?”

“It’s not supposed to.” Neville charges ahead, prompting Nagini to lunge forward in an attempt to protect her master. He swings the sword at the snake and it’s too late for Nagini to move — he slits open the snake’s neck. She falls to the ground, blood trickling out of the cut. Voldemort screams and Neville stabs her once more with the sword.

Amidst the screaming, Harry rolls — he _what_ — he rolls out of Hagrid’s arms and onto the hard ground. Then he stands up and dusts himself off like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Voldemort looks so confused as Harry takes a step closer to him. No one knows what to do, no one makes a sound.

“No … I’m supposed to save them.”


	6. six

_I’ve been the archer  
_ _I’ve been the prey  
_ _who could leave me darlin’  
_ _but who could stay_

He manages to escape the hordes of people surrounding him, and he finds himself in the Common Room in the Gryffindor Tower — or rather, what’s left of the Gryffindor Tower. He takes in the sight of the comfortable couches and armchairs and the fireplace. He sees the parchment scattered around the floor and the books thrown around the room.

It must have been a frenzied moment, getting dragged out of bed late in the evening only to hear that the Golden Trio was back in the castle and Lord Voldemort was close behind. Now … now he sees the room in a different light.

How different his life could have been if there never was a Lord Voldemort.

He hears a gentle knocking and his head turns towards the sound of it. Hermione is standing there in the empty portrait hole, smiling ever so slightly at him. Her hair is falling out of her braid and she has bleeding cuts and bruises forming on her face and arms. He smiles in return and holds his hand out to her. She looks surprised, but she takes it. He pulls her into a tight hug and sighs, breathing deeply into her neck.

_who could stay  
_ _who could stay  
_ _who could stay  
_ _who could stay_

For once in Hermione’s life, she can’t find any words to say what she wants to say.

…

Okay, that’s not true, there are so many words flying in and out her head, but none of them feel right. She only knows how she feels.

“Please, don’t ever scare me like that again,” she mumbles into his shoulder as tears make her eyes burn. “I wasn’t … I didn’t …”

“I know,” he murmurs and rubs her back. “I know ‘Mione.”

She pulls away from him and lets out an exasperated breath, some of the tears falling. “But you don’t know!” He is surprised at this slight outburst, but she continues without acknowledging it. “You don’t know how I felt looking at your body, thinking you were actually dead, and thinking how I was never going to be able to tell you everything I wanted to tell you, like, like, like how I’m going to miss your smile and your eyes and your jokes and how you make me feel so so safe when I’m in your arms and how I sleep so much better when you’re near me and how much I love —”

She stops short of finishing her declaration, panting hard because she never breathes when she rambles. She’s never said it out loud, only in her head. She realizes he doesn’t know she rebuffed Ron’s attempt at kissing her in the chamber when they destroyed the cup. But the war is over and now they can _live_, because baby, she does, she does, _she does love him_.

_you could stay_

Hermione has this wild look in her eyes that makes Harry understand what she is saying before she even says it, because of course he knows. He doesn’t stop when all his instincts pushed his body into hers and kisses her — for real. He’s kissing her hard, his hands in her hair and around her waist.

_This is real, this is real? this is real, oh my god, this is real!_ Hermione’s mind can’t seem to form any other thought than this singular one.

And she’s kissing him back because …

“I love you,” she mumbles against his lips before pulling further away from him, “I love you. I love y —”

He’s grinning and kisses her again, mid-declaration, gentler this time, his hand cupping her cheek. “I love you, too.”

Her heart soars and she can’t help but giggle. Their foreheads rest against each other’s and he brushes some of the stray hairs away from her face. Her brain is darting from question to question, wondering what they’re going to do about Ron and Ginny and the dead warriors and the destruction of the castle and the Elder Wand and the future, but then his hand grips her side a little tighter, pulling her out of her thoughts.

He’s smiling at her, his boyish grin gracing his features, and all her worries Disapparate. Oh, she loves him, so so much.

“What do we do now?” She asks in a whisper.

Harry shrugs his shoulders and takes her hands in his. “I dunno,” he whispers back, “Maybe breakfast?”

_oh_  
_combat  
_ _I’m ready for combat_


End file.
